Read Online Just One Night. Part 1 by Elle Casey - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Elle Casey
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blinking.
I can’t help but smile at him, even in the face of his obvious arousal and intensity. He makes me want to sing the theme song from The Sound of Music for some reason. “You’re trouble, you know that?” I cock my head to the side as I recall the description he gave of his brother. “Are you sure your name isn’t Edward Stratford?”
His sexy mood disappears in a flash. His shoulders go back and his chin lifts just a tiny bit as he turns his head away from me to look out into the hall. I’m left standing in front of a man I’ve never met … cold and very, very businesslike.
“I’m absolutely positive.” He steps back and holds out a hand, looking at me again but this time without the heat. “Would you care to dance? I find I have a little excess energy that begs release.”
My heart plummets into my toes and my smile falls away. I want to tell him that we can work off that excess energy checking out the vintage phones some more, but I don’t. This change in attitude feels too much like rejection. I screwed up and I regret it, but it’s too late.
Instead of trying to fix it with words, I follow quietly along next to him, being careful not to touch him. Back we go towards the ballroom, where I will pretend not to be affected by the hottest, wettest kisses I’ve ever had in my entire life, shared with the most sexy enigmatic and confusing man I’ve ever met.
CHAPTER EIGHT
William
WHAT A COCK-UP. WHAT was I thinking, bringing her in a dark corner to molest her person? It’s bloody madness is what it is. I glance in her direction but cannot read her expression. Her breasts swell over the top of her gown, making me instantly rigid again.
I steel my jaw and look away. That’s the root of the problem right there. Those breasts. Those cloying, lovely mounds of jubbly bubbly flesh that beg to be fondled and kissed and licked. I cannot be blamed for simply being a man of good taste, now can I? It wouldn’t be fair.
“This is a really nice hotel,” Jennifer says as we stand at the entrance to the ballroom. Every time she inhales, her breasts swell up over the top of her bodice, and then when she exhales they retreat. It’s a terrible tease, causing me to break out in sweat as I barely control the urge to release the lovelies from their bonds.
I can picture them bouncing and swaying as the bodice is unzipped and lowered, and my hands coming up to support their pendulous weight. I would gently push them together and squeeze them and suck them and place my jolly roger between them…
Good gravy. I’ve become my brother.
I attempt to air myself out by pulling at my collar. Blinking a few times, I work to get my thoughts back on track. My eyes scan the room, seeking out a jowly, bearded matron to help calm my ardor. Unfortunately, there isn’t a hag in sight. I remain wound tight as a fiddle.
“Yes, it’s brilliant,” I finally say. Apparently, stimulating conversation is no longer an option available to me. A waiter comes by to save me from my complete lack of social graces. “Would you care for some champagne?” I hail my savior posthaste and usher him over with gestures more befitting a traffic officer.
“Yes, thank you,” she says with a smile. I want to believe she’s oblivious to my distraction.
I take two flutes from the tray and hand the first to Jennifer. The second I hold out in between us as the waiter disappears into the crowd. “A toast,” I say, hoping that she won’t toss the sticky beverage in my face for being such a cad.
She holds up her glass and lifts her eyes to meet mine, and that’s all it takes to light the fire within me once more. My cock pushes against my trousers, eager to be freed from its confines. Luckily, my jacket saves me from certain discovery.
“What are we toasting to?” she asks.
“Forgiveness,” I say, lowering my head once in a silent nod of apology.
She leans her flute toward mine and touches them together lightly. The ching rings
I can’t help but smile at him, even in the face of his obvious arousal and intensity. He makes me want to sing the theme song from The Sound of Music for some reason. “You’re trouble, you know that?” I cock my head to the side as I recall the description he gave of his brother. “Are you sure your name isn’t Edward Stratford?”
His sexy mood disappears in a flash. His shoulders go back and his chin lifts just a tiny bit as he turns his head away from me to look out into the hall. I’m left standing in front of a man I’ve never met … cold and very, very businesslike.
“I’m absolutely positive.” He steps back and holds out a hand, looking at me again but this time without the heat. “Would you care to dance? I find I have a little excess energy that begs release.”
My heart plummets into my toes and my smile falls away. I want to tell him that we can work off that excess energy checking out the vintage phones some more, but I don’t. This change in attitude feels too much like rejection. I screwed up and I regret it, but it’s too late.
Instead of trying to fix it with words, I follow quietly along next to him, being careful not to touch him. Back we go towards the ballroom, where I will pretend not to be affected by the hottest, wettest kisses I’ve ever had in my entire life, shared with the most sexy enigmatic and confusing man I’ve ever met.
CHAPTER EIGHT
William
WHAT A COCK-UP. WHAT was I thinking, bringing her in a dark corner to molest her person? It’s bloody madness is what it is. I glance in her direction but cannot read her expression. Her breasts swell over the top of her gown, making me instantly rigid again.
I steel my jaw and look away. That’s the root of the problem right there. Those breasts. Those cloying, lovely mounds of jubbly bubbly flesh that beg to be fondled and kissed and licked. I cannot be blamed for simply being a man of good taste, now can I? It wouldn’t be fair.
“This is a really nice hotel,” Jennifer says as we stand at the entrance to the ballroom. Every time she inhales, her breasts swell up over the top of her bodice, and then when she exhales they retreat. It’s a terrible tease, causing me to break out in sweat as I barely control the urge to release the lovelies from their bonds.
I can picture them bouncing and swaying as the bodice is unzipped and lowered, and my hands coming up to support their pendulous weight. I would gently push them together and squeeze them and suck them and place my jolly roger between them…
Good gravy. I’ve become my brother.
I attempt to air myself out by pulling at my collar. Blinking a few times, I work to get my thoughts back on track. My eyes scan the room, seeking out a jowly, bearded matron to help calm my ardor. Unfortunately, there isn’t a hag in sight. I remain wound tight as a fiddle.
“Yes, it’s brilliant,” I finally say. Apparently, stimulating conversation is no longer an option available to me. A waiter comes by to save me from my complete lack of social graces. “Would you care for some champagne?” I hail my savior posthaste and usher him over with gestures more befitting a traffic officer.
“Yes, thank you,” she says with a smile. I want to believe she’s oblivious to my distraction.
I take two flutes from the tray and hand the first to Jennifer. The second I hold out in between us as the waiter disappears into the crowd. “A toast,” I say, hoping that she won’t toss the sticky beverage in my face for being such a cad.
She holds up her glass and lifts her eyes to meet mine, and that’s all it takes to light the fire within me once more. My cock pushes against my trousers, eager to be freed from its confines. Luckily, my jacket saves me from certain discovery.
“What are we toasting to?” she asks.
“Forgiveness,” I say, lowering my head once in a silent nod of apology.
She leans her flute toward mine and touches them together lightly. The ching rings
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